


Mad Followers of a Mad King

by JulianGreystoke



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Battle, Brawl - Freeform, Bully, Bullying, Male-Female Friendship, Scrap, Warden - Freeform, barfight, fight, friend, squire, squires, thugs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4834760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulianGreystoke/pseuds/JulianGreystoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannah and Jeremy are back.  This time the two squires of King Alistair are in a spot of trouble in a tavern.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mad Followers of a Mad King

**Author's Note:**

> Hannah and Jeremy are a couple of minor characters from my epic fic: The New Ways of Old Gods. You do not need to have read that fic to enjoy this one, but you if you love DA, I encourage you to check that one out too.

Mad Followers of a Mad King

 

“Are we being punished?”

Jeremy looked up from his meal at his fellow squire. Hannah sat with a look of utter displeasure on her round, homey face. She had hardly touched her shepherd’s pie, nor more than a sip of her ale. It was good ale too. Jeremy hated to see it being wasted. He couldn't help but smile at his friend's sour expression. “Of course not. King Alistair knows it is important for us to have breaks from time time, and to have a chance to bond with one another.”

“You already like me, yes?” she asked, prodding the crust of her pie.

“Of course,” Jeremy replied. It was true. In the months since Hannah had been hired on as the king's second squire, the elf had come to value her immensely. She was a bit too stoic for his liking at times, but in truth he seldom minded. She had the good, steadfast nature of the country born. Something he wasn't accustomed to from his friends amongst the city elves of Denerim. And he would be the first to admit that her love for order had gotten him out of a few minor scrapes which might have made him look a fool before King Alistair. This dinner, however, was testing his friend's nerve, and he didn't quite understand. “Why are you so determined to be miserable? The Gnawed Noble has the best food in the city.”

“We shouldn't be given leave together,” Hannah griped. “If something should befall the king and we're both gone-”

“He has loads of other servants at his call. We'll be back tonight, and we're already within spitting distance of the castle. Honestly, Hann, you fret over everything.”

“Only the important things,” the blonde woman muttered darkly, picking a bit of carrot from her pie and popping it into her mouth. The flavor must have pleased her, because she finally took a proper mouthful moment later. “This is foolish.”

“He wants us to have a chance to get to know one another, outside work.” Jeremy explained calmly, taking a swig of his drink and hoping the woman would get the idea and copy his motion. He knew why Hannah was tense. Nearly two weeks before the pair had had to coax their ruler down from an icy roof before he broke his neck. King Alistair was a grey warden, and as such was subject to a sort of hallucination known as The Song. One day, both squires knew, though neither of them spoke of it, their employer would be driven mad by it. He might take his leave and travel to the deep roads to be slain fighting darkspawn. When that day came Jeremy wondered if he would be expected to accompany the man to his ultimate fate. As he looked across the table at his dining companion he suspected she would, without hesitation, follow her king to the end.

Whatever the eventual outcome, both squires felt secure in their king had a good many years left to him. Even other grey wardens had pronounced him particularly resistant to the song. He might outlive most of his kind. He showed no sign of mental degradation. Only at night could the calling of the darkspawn reach him, and lock him into a walking nightmare from which his stalwart squires would wake him.

Hannah finished a few more bites of her pie, then looked back up, her mouth full of meat gravy and a retort. Before she could speak Jeremy felt something smack the back of his head. A none-to-gentle slap. Hannah's eyes went wide and she stopped chewing. “What d'you think you're doing here, Knife Ear?” A rough voice questioned from behind Jeremy.

Jeremy made a show of leaning back casually in his chair to get a look at the abrasive stranger. Damn. The tough was big. Well muscled, with just enough fat on him to plant him firmly on the ground. Jeremy, by contrast, could be called slim if someone were feeling charitable. His lean limbs belayed a tight musculature, but only for an elf. Humans could outclass him in almost every count. Even Hannah was taller than he. Still, he kept his long face passive, his eyes low lidded. “I think I'm eating dinner,” Jeremy answered the man's question.

“Are you now? Did you hear that lads? Knife Ear says he's eating dinner,” The man called to three other, equally well build thugs who were claiming a nearby table.

Oh joy. The tough had friends. Jeremy's dark eyes darted up to Hannah's pale blue for a moment. She was tense, as though someone had just poured ice water down the back of her tunic. Thank goodness she was still waiting for his cue. He gave her an almost imperceptible shake of his head. She understood, signaling this with a blink, however unwillingly.

“An' what makes you think you can eat dinner here, Knifey? This is a human establishment.”

Jeremy had to give the man a few points for his vocabulary.

“The Gnawed Noble is open to all races,” Hannah snapped, her eyes like ice, fixed over Jeremy's shoulder at his harasser.

“Well, we're thinking it shouldn't be. I don't wanna eat near no Knife Ear. Turns my stomach.”

“Nothing says you have to sit here.”

“Hannah,” Jeremy hissed and wished he hadn't. His eyes darted pleadingly to a server, who simply looked on. Great. The place was full of racists. His colleague shot him an edged look and once again he shook his head. Not yet.

But now Hannah had drawn attention to herself. One of the other thugs got up and strolled around the table, leaning close in to the woman as though to smell her hair. Jeremy saw her hand close instinctively around the handle of a fork. His own blood was going hot now. He could take abuse on himself, but had little tolerance for it being heaped on other people. Still, he didn't move. He watched keenly, but didn't so much as rest his arms in an un-casual way.

Jeremy's own personal tormenter was not about to be distracted. “I think, Knife Ear, that you had better move on. Your smell is chasing away the custom and putting this establishment out of business.”

Zero points for reusing the word 'establishment'. Perhaps it was the only big word the man knew. The one beside Hannah noticed her hand tighten around the fork and changed direction, instead helping himself to her bread roll as though he were flirting. He took a bite, revealing yellowed teeth.

“We're not going anywhere,” Hannah growled.

Jeremy raised his eyebrows. He'd seen Hannah fight, though mostly in practice. He was seldom privy to her temper, however. Before he had a chance to appreciate Hannah's anger, however, Jeremy felt the man behind him grab the back of his head, thick fingers tangling in Jeremy's long hair. He was shoved forward, his face slammed down into his meal with some considerable force. He winced as he pushed himself back upright. The food hadn't been hot, but his nose had struck the plate quite smartly and now a little drip of blood landed beside his potatoes. Hannah almost rose. Were it not for the swift look he sent her. Wait. Discipline. We can't been seen to start a fight in an inn unless...

“What you doing with this Knife Ear, little maidy?” Hannah's man asked. This time he did reach for her hair, but she ducked her head away before he could catch hold of her braid.

“We are squires of the king. If you continue to harass us, his highness will hear of it,” Hannah spat, her tone officious and stern as a reprimanding mother.

Jeremy shot her a questioning look. What was she doing? It only took him seconds to catch on. His partner sat up straighter, displaying the tunic she wore. The symbol of the royal family, two red lionesses rampant against a tan a shield, was clearly emblazoned on the chest. She was taking a bit of a gamble, but he had to admit, he liked her thinking. He wished his nose would stop bleeding however. He wiped a red smear onto the back of his hand.

“King's men?” the thugs all bristled, even the ones still seated at the nearby table. They too rose and the serving staff retreated. Several patrons left, clearly sensing where this was going. “You mean you serve that addled idiot king? That puppet of Queen Anora? You serve the man who is headed for the deep roads and planning to take our country down with him?” the head-tough snarled.

Jeremy smiled. Hannah had been correct. Of course she had. She'd read these men and prodded just the right spot. Now she met his eyes across the table and he was finally able to give her a tiny nod.

“Insulting the king is an offense, sirs, for which we will not, and cannot stand,” Hannah did stand. So abruptly she completely threw her man off balance. “I will give you a chance to retract your statement.”

“I ain't doing nothing a little maid and a Knife Ear tells me to do! Least of all take back anything I said about that sham of a king! He isn't even full blood, and now he and the traitor's daughter sit on the throne.”

“And insulting the queen as well?” Jeremy cocked an expressive eyebrow. He'd slid his foot back to meet the rear leg of his chair, bracing imperceptibly.

“We cannot let this be,” Hannah announced, at the same moment she brought her elbow into the gut of the thug standing behind her. The man exhaled with an 'oof' and clasped his stomach, staggered.

Jeremy, his leg now in position, hooked the leg of his chair and pivoted up, sending the chair flying and clipping his own harasser's hip. He also grabbed a butter knife, hoping that Hannah still had hold of her fork. The other two thugs had abandoned their chairs and rushed forward. Jeremy dodged nimbly and felt the breeze of a punch go past his cheek. Across from him Hannah's man grabbed her braid, then jerked his hand back, yelping in pain. Jeremy inwardly smirked. The woman wore a strip of leather with spikes on in in her hair at almost all times. Anyone who tried to grab it was in for a bloody palm.

Hannah took full advantage of this and kicked the man's knee with cruel force, then brought her elbow up as he collapsed downward, smashing it into his nose. He screeched. Actually screeched, pulling away and clasping hands to his face, his nose gushing blood.

Jeremy cursed as someone grabbed at him. He's been distracted, watching Hannah best her opponent so handily. He had to admit he liked watching her fight. There was a certain grace to it. Some women danced. Hannah brawled. He could not help but picture her sisters, for she had many, all teaming together to crush any who dared threaten them. This time a hand really did get a hold of Jeremy, jerking his arm up and back and a painful angle. His lip curled in a grimace as he stamped with his right foot. It connected with the toes of his attacker and the man's grip loosened slightly. Jeremy jerked free, though not without a little yelp of pain. The man had still had a pretty firm grip on the elf's arm.

Hannah was moving around the table to her friend's aid, but for the moment Jeremy was left to deal with three attackers at once. His best bet, he knew, was to keep them at a distance. If any of these bruisers could get in a good punch or grapple Jeremy would have a problem. He threw his knife with accuracy, and it struck as intended, thick handle first, into the face on one of the oncoming men. There was a satisfying 'clonk' and the man's progress was stayed for the moment. Now for the other two. Jeremy hooked his foot around another chair leg and slid it hastily between himself and the oncoming men.

They did not trip, but were hampered by the chair. It bought Hannah the time she needed. She came up behind the men and kicked one of them in the back of the knee, forcing him down to her level. She boxed his ears with two quick punches before his friends turned on her like angered wolves.

Now the chair was in Jeremy’s way. Dammit. He inwardly cursed, shoving the chair before him and slamming it into one of the thugs. It nearly took the man's feet out from under him. Nearly. Jeremy had time to see Hannah trying to squirm out of a hold one of the men had put her in before a glancing punch had his ears ringing and his vision going double for a few precious seconds. Someone tripped him and he heard Hannah shout in pain. He hit the floor hard, driving out his wind, and felt a kick which missed his ribs and buried itself in his stomach. His dinner threatened to make a repeat appearance.

Jeremy didn't waste a second. He might have been raised on the streets, but his training was sound. His muscles might have acted on their own, had he been unable to coach them. He knew the man above him would not be able to resist another kick. He thrashed his own legs up, aiming for where he knew the man must be. One of his feet connected with the thug's knee. It was enough. Jeremy scrambled away in a manner highly unbecoming of a king's squire. It had to be done, however, to save his skin. He used the table to haul himself up, his head giving a little throb and making the room tilt.

“Yeouch! She bit me!”

Good on you, Hannah, Jeremy thought with a ping of pride for his younger fellow. A good fighter would use every possible advantage. He looked up in time to see her drive her head back into the chin of the man who was holding her. And then her arms were free. A man grabbed her wrist. She dislodged his hand with a swift, practiced motion. He'd used an easy grapple to escape from.

Jeremy focused on the man who had been kicking him. The one who had insisted on calling him 'Knife Ear'. Jeremy smiled grimly. This was going to feel good. He took up a boxing stance. Fists raised, feet slightly farther than shoulder width apart. He balanced skillfully on the balls of his feet. His own dance, he thought. The attacking thug didn't what to make of this elf any longer. He too raised his fists, but sloppily.

Two jabs to the nose was all it took. The man sprawled back, smashing into his friend who had been dealing with Hannah's own fighting skills. The other two thugs had retreated already. One was still bleeding rather severely from his nose and Jeremy felt certain Hannah had broken it. He found this knowledge immensely satisfying as he watched the big men finally back off. He glanced at Hannah. She had a fat lip and a bruise forming above her left eye, but her expression was still deadly.

“I would advise you, in future, to think before you speak ill of our King Alistair.” Jeremy said, trying to stand straight, though his gut ached where he had been kicked.

“Long live the king!” Hannah shouted for good measure.

Those patrons who had remained in the Gnawed Noble to watch the fracas, and the pair of tough looking bouncers who had finally emerged, dutifully parroted “Long live the king!”

~~~~~

“And you simply had to fight them?” King Alistair stood before his pair of squires, examining their bruised faces and how Jeremy still favored his side. The two had returned after their meal together like this and had explained how it had become necessary to 'teach a valuable lesson' to some 'very rude men'.

“Yes, sire,” Hannah said, standing straighter than her fellow. She managed to look soldierly even with a huge, blue patch above her eye that was still kissed with raw pink. “They insulted you, Sire. We had little choice. We're your squires. What sort would we be if we did not defend your honor?”

The king was trying very hard not to laugh. “I see,” his lips twitched. The pair of them looked like children being scolded for a schoolyard scrap. “Well, in future I hope you will use a bit more discretion. I can't have to two squires out of commission because they've gotten into too many bar brawls.” He watched their faces for any sign of remorse and saw little. This made it all the harder not to burst out laughing. “Your actions were lacking in the dignity befitting squires of your caliber and standing.” His voice hitched in the middle of that sentence and he hastily looked at a nearby tapestry to keep himself together, hoping he might seem to be so upset he could not look at the pair any longer.

“Yes, Sire” the two piped up, saluting with hands to their chests and bowing from the waist.

“You're dismissed,” King Alistair managed to meet their eyes one last time and almost lost it then and there. There wasn't an ounce of 'sorry' in those eyes and he loved it.

When the two squires had left, and he was certain they were well away down the hall, Alistair finally did laugh. Mad. The pair of them. “I suppose they suit me fine,” he decided, still chuckling.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this fic came about because I had a couple hours to kill, and I still enjoy these two. This time I wrote from Jeremy's POV rather than Hannah's. It's good practice because for some reason I often have a harder time writing from a male POV.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it :)


End file.
